


Love Bites

by I_Am_Fangirl



Series: The Strange Case Of... [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Minor Violence, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:39:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_Fangirl/pseuds/I_Am_Fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in early season nine, Reader is a hunter who runs into the Winchesters’ while on a hunt. She and Dean start falling for each other, and it's very obvious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Hunter's World

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by the album ‘The Strange Case Of…’ by the band Halestorm. This series will have six parts, each part being inspired by a certain song off the album (I can’t do all the songs, because that’s just too much to write about). There is an almost-rape scene, but it's all good, some violence, and I'm sorry it takes so long to get to the smut. Not sure if I'll keept this format (almost like an episode, with a case and all that) or if I'll try something else later on. Again, sorry for any mistakes or lapses, I'm new at this, and I hope y'all enjoy :) and feedback is always appreciated.

It was an easy salt-and-burn case. Put the restless spirit where he belonged and then you’d be back on the road, hunting something else. The McCarroway house had been marked as one of the most haunted places in north America, but you’d only read of one death there- Mr. McCarroway. He’d apparently tortured his wife and three children in the basement, getting off on their screams of pain. Whew, you thought. This will be fun. You knew you usually had bad luck with spirits, especially the completely-off-their-balls types. Whatever, you’d just find the body, salt and burn it, and be on your merry little way.   
It was a couple days before you planned to kill McCarroway, and you were walking, trying to find the cheapest motel in the city. You settled for an abandoned shipping container- you had no clue why there was a shipping container this far inland, but you really didn’t care. You set up your laptop and police reports you’d gotten from your data guy. He was pretty reliable when it came to things like this. You typed up some emails going out to a couple hunter friends of yours. Just letting them know where you were and that you were okay- it was part of the agreement you’d made with them, that you’d update them on everything so they wouldn’t follow you around.   
You sighed, grabbing a white blouse and pencil skirt from the knapsack that was your wardrobe and weapons closet. You checked your appearance in the little hand mirror you always carried. Your (h/c) hair was a bit frizzy from the humidity, so you smoothed it back into a tight bun. Your makeup was slightly smeared, so you cleaned it up as best you could, then grabbed your fake FBI badge, revolver, and stiletto knife. You shoved the gun into the back waistband of your skirt, making sure the black blazer covered it, and stuck the stiletto into the cuff of your high-top converse. You knew you needed new heels, but you didn’t have the time or money just yet.   
You made sure you looked professional, and then headed out to the restaurant where you would begin your search. When you arrived, it was about an hour to closing time, so you figured you’d be quick. You waved down a waiter to speak with him. He seemed kind, with warm brown eyes and a friendly smile. “What can I do for you, ma’am?” he said. His nametag said ‘Arthur’.  
You showed your badge to him. “Special agent Nunez,” You said convincingly. “What can you tell me about the recent murders up at the McCarroway house?”  
Arthur looked around, hushing you. “Not so loud,” he muttered. “The locals don’t like talking about it- he killed lots of people, agent Nunez. It’s a horrible thing to remember.”  
He led you to the kitchen, where a few cooks worked at a stew and some roast. “I read that he only tortured his family- but he didn’t kill anybody,” you said, confused.  
“Oh, you read mostly right, “Arthur said. “He didn’t kill his family, and he was the only one who died in that house. But he went outside, murdered people in their beds, and brought them back to the house, forcing his wife and kids to eat the bodies. He was a madman, agent. I’m sure you understand why this is such a sensitive topic in such a tight knit community.”  
“Yes, of course, I understand,” you said. “But what else did he do? And how exactly did he die? The report wasn’t too specific.”  
“Oh I’m sure no one would be specific about how he died. Because nobody really knows,” said Arthur in a low voice. “Sure, he did terrible things, but no one knows the specifics. He killed people in their beds, took them home, fed them to his family. He cut them up, poured acid on his children, and forced his wife to eat their arms and legs. He strangled them, drowned them, burnt them, beat them, and raped them. But the only reason anyone knows any of this is because it showed up in the autopsies. No one can tell what really happened in that house. All we know is that the wife and two of the kids died outside, and Mr. McCarroway died in the basement, signs of all the torture he’d ever inflicted on others, on him. And no one knows how that’s possible, because his wife was on the brink of death, and the kids were certainly not strong enough to inflict that kind of damage. Some speculate that he did it to himself, but that theory is not viable.”  
“Dear god,” you whispered, not having read any of that in the report.  
“Exactly,” Arthur said suddenly. You looked up at him, confused. “Most seem to think it was some work of God or something. But between you and me, agent, I think it was something… else.”  
“What kind of… else?” you asked.  
Arthur looked around, as if he were about to share some huge secret. “Don’t go calling the asylum, agent, but I think it could have been the ghost of someone he killed.”  
“Now why would you say such a thing, Artie? Can I call you Artie?”  
“Yeah, sure, everyone calls me Artie. I say that because it’s the only logical thing. As a wise man once said, ‘once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’”  
“Conan Doyle,” you said, impressed. “Well thank you, Arthur, for all your help. I’m sure I’ll see you around before this is all over. Oh, and if you remember anything more, just give me a call.” You handed him your business card.  
“Yeah, no problem,” Arthur said. “But- why did you call me Arthur?”  
You smiled at him. “Because everyone calls you Artie; and I’m not everyone. Have a good evening, Arthur.” You walked away, pleased with yourself.  
You went to the shipping container, typed up the information you had gained from Arthur, and then emailed it to your data guy, asking his opinion. When you’d finished with that, you rummaged around in your bag, pulling out your black leather miniskirt, low cut midnight blue tank-top, and the strappy heels that were far too inappropriate for FBI work, and your makeup kit. You changed, then applied heavier eyeliner, and smudged it all around your eye. “Yesterday’s makeup is today’s smoky eye if you believe in yourself,” you said out loud while applying a thicker coat of mascara. You patted on some rouge, and some dark red lipstick to complete the look. You fished around in your bag for the fake I.D that said you were thirty-two, grabbed your sequined clutch, and headed out to find a bar.   
You found the perfect sleazy bar and flashed your I.D to the bouncer, who nodded and let you in. The place was pretty full, and would only get fuller as the night progressed. You sat at the bar, ordering a strawberry daiquiri. You looked around, as if looking for someone. Your ploy worked, and a man came up to you.  
“Are you looking for someone?” he asked, his voice full of venom. You knew he was probably dangerous, but you decided to take your chances, seeing as you could run in your stiletto heels, and you had a black belt in karate.   
You gave him a dazzling smile. “Yes, actually,” you told him, your voice low and seductive, turning the charm up to full blast. You batted your eyes at him, watching him squirm. “Care to be that someone?” He smiled and sat next to you, leaning one arm on the bar to face you. “I’m Veronica,” you told him, using the fake name on your I.D.  
“And I’m smitten,” said the man, chuckling. “But you can call me Aaron.” You laughed with him, playing along. Your drink arrived, and you took a sip, playing with the edge of the glass. Aaron licked his lips, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him.   
“You know what I’d like right now?” you said, leaning close to him.  
“I could take a few guesses,” Aaron said, eyes darting to your lips, then back to your (e/c) eyes. You smirked.  
“I like horror stories,” you whispered. Aaron started, leaning back. You smiled at him, batting your eyes again.  
“Is that a kink?” he asked.  
“No, just a hobby,” you laughed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.  
“Well in that case, have I got a story for you,” Aaron said, leaning closer to her. He smelled like a mixture of beer and whiskey, cheap cologne, stale cigarettes, and musty motel rooms- just what you were used to. “It’s about that house up on the ridge- the McCarroway house.” Perfect, you thought. But then Aaron proceeded to tell you exactly what Arthur had told you, only as more of a story, rather than sharing facts. You already knew all of what he was telling you, but you let him continue anyways, feigning interest like you’d done all your life. The story was well over thirty years old- and nobody had come up with anything new?  
Until- “You know, there’s still a living McCarroway,” Aaron said.   
“What?” you snapped, then calmed yourself. “Sorry, what?”   
“Yeah,” Aaron said, taking no notice of your outburst. “Only the wife and two of the kids died outside that night. The youngest is still alive, in his late thirties. He went to college for a degree in philosophy, but he came back to work at a restaurant.” You remembered Arthur saying that the wife and two kids died, but it hadn’t registered to you at the time. And now…  
“What’s his name?” you asked.  
“I think it’s like, Bart, or Artie, or something like that,” Aaron said, waving his hand as if it weren’t important.   
“Holy shit,” you said, covering your mouth with your hand.   
“What?” Aaron said. You waved it away, sipping your daiquiri. It was then that you saw the two men come in. They were very tall, one taller, with longer, darker hair. The other was only slightly shorter, bowlegged, with short, dark blond hair. Even from where you sat, in the club’s dim light, you could see that the shorter one had stunning green eyes. There was something familiar about the men, but also something foreign, that you’d never seen before. They were wearing suits, and looked well cleaned up, but you could see the hardness in their eyes. They flashed FBI badges at the bartender, who was behind you, and he started speaking avidly.   
Aaron followed your gaze behind you to where you’d been staring. “Seriously? What the hell’s the FBI doing here?” You glanced at him, confused.   
“Oh, I don’t know,” you said sarcastically, turning to face him again. “Maybe the bunch of strange deaths that are occurring, that look just like the way Mr. McCarroway died. I think they do this kind of stuff.” You took a long drink of you daiquiri, turning back around to watch the agents.  
“Veronica?” Aaron said, touching her arm. “Hello? So, what do you think of that plan, huh?” He smiled in a dangerous way, and you felt like you’d missed something huge.  
“I’m sorry, what did you say? I think this daiquiri is getting to me,” you chuckled, feigning tipsiness, and taking another long drink.   
“It’s alright,” Aaron said. “I said, we should go to my motel room and make out. Maybe more.” He grinned a huge, terrifying grin.   
You smiled at him, letting him down gently. “I’m sorry, I’m not really up to that. Thanks for the story, though.” You began to get up, intending to leave and run all the way back to your container. Aaron grabbed your arm, holding you in place. You would have fallen if he hadn’t caught you.  
“I really think it’s the best course of action right now,” Aaron said. Your tongue felt huge and fuzzy in your mouth, the world blurring and stretching in front of your eyes. “I’ll take real good care of you, Veronica.”  
“Wha dih yah…” you slurred, coming to the solution on your own- he just roofied you. Fuck. He must have put it in your drink while you were watching the FBI guys. Aaron got out of his seat and helped you down, keeping one arm around your waist, and slinging your arm around his neck. It looked like you were drunk, and he was helping you out, of course.  
“Don do…” you tried to say, the darkness creeping into the edges of your vision. “No…” Aaron only chuckled and continued dragging you to the exit. “No!” you yelled, loud as you could. “Leggo!” You tried pulling yourself away from him, nearly falling in the process. Your commotion had caused people to stare. Aaron just waved and smiled innocently at them.  
“Sorry,” he said. “She gets delusional when she’s drunk.” Everyone went back to their business.  
“Excuse me, sir,” said one of the FBI agents. Aaron looked at him. “If a lady says to let go of her, you let her go, and you move on with our life.”   
“Look, mister, I’m just helping her home. She’s a friend of my cousin, they’re having a sleepover, and I just need to help her home. Jenna’s got to be worried about us by now. She warned me before we came here that she gets delusional when she’s drunk.”   
The man nodded, pursing his lips. “Nice story, buddy,” he said. “I bet that one lets you get away with a lot of shit, don’t it? Is this true, lady?” He turned his attention to you, and you could barely turn your head to the left, then to the right.   
“Nuh,” you were able to say. “Nuh… true.”  
“Like I said,” Aaron tried again, “she gets delusional-“  
“And I’m sure you’re delusional to think you could get away with this. Not a chance, buster,” said the taller FBI guy. With that, he pried you from Aaron’s grip, sending the world spinning dizzily past you. You tried to keep consciousness, but the darkness encroached, engulfing you completely.


	2. Easy as Pie

You woke up in a musty motel room, on a musty motel bed, and you panicked slightly, thinking that Aaron had gotten you after all. But you calmed when you smelled the clean book and fresh laundry smell of the taller FBI agent. They must have brought you to their room to let you recover. You looked around the small room, noting one other bed next to the on you were lying on. You also noticed that you were not alone. The shorter agent was there, and sunlight streamed in through the windows. The man was not wearing the suit, rather blue jeans, a plaid shirt, and a dark green jacket. He was looking at something on a laptop. He looked up at you when you sat up, clutching you head.  
“Hey, take it easy,” he said. “That was a pretty strong roofie you got. Just relax, food will be here soon.” When you first awoke, you were worried about the fake I.D in your clutch, that the FBI might notice, and you worried that you might get in trouble for it. But now, you weren’t worried at all- at least, not about getting in trouble with the law.  
“You look familiar,” you said slowly, your tongue thick in your dry mouth. “Have we met?”  
“I’m pretty sure I’d remember you,” the man said. “We haven’t met.”  
You sighed. “I’m sure I know you from somewhere,” you pushed. “Were you ever on T.V or something? Because you look so familiar, I just can’t put my finger on it.”   
“Must be your imagination,” said the man.   
Suddenly, the taller man came through the door, carrying Chinese takeout. “Food,” he said, giving you a soft smile. You were so certain you’d seen them somewhere before.  
“So,” you said as you all sat around the small table and began eating. “You agents here about the strange deaths up at McCarroway house?”  
They both looked at you. “Yeah.” Said the taller one. “You know anything about that?”   
You shook your head, playing sad. “No, sorry. I only just heard about it. I’m passing through on my way to my brother’s place.” That was your story every time. “I’m Veronica, by the way.” You gave them a small smile.  
“Special agents Stark and Banner,” said the green-eyed man. And that’s when you knew it.  
“I know who you are,” you shouted. They both stared at you. “Holy crap. Sam and Dean, right? Winchester? Holy crap, you guys… jeez.”   
“Uh,” said the taller one, which must be Sam. “How did you figure it out?”  
“Oh please,” you said. “Stark and Banner? As in Tony and Bruce? Total Winchester move. Besides, I heard a lot from Bobby about you guys, as well as the whole Saving The World thing. Word gets around if you know where to listen. By the way, I heard about Bobby, and I’m sorry. He was like a father to you guys, right? He was a great man.”   
“Holy crap,” said Sam. “I told you those names were obvious, Dean.”   
“Shut up,” Dean said. “Where exactly did you hear about all that, Veronica? If your name is even Veronica.”   
“Oh, that’s just one of my fake names. My real name is (y/n). And I uh… I may have read all the Supernatural books. Bad luck, Sam. I know how you feel.” You smiled innocently at them as they exchanged a look. “Oh, by the way, thanks for helping me out last night. That was pretty awful. I just didn’t realize… thanks.”  
“Yeah, no problem,” Sam said. “I think Bobby mentioned you a few times, though. He said you’re a good hunter.” You smiled, remembering Bobby.   
“So did you find out anything about the McCarroway house, or was that act just for the FBI agents? We didn’t get much out of the bartender before your whole fiasco,” Dean asked, his voice soft to let you know he didn’t hold it against you.  
“Well, you gotta talk to the right people to find out anything in this place.” And you told them everything that Arthur had told you about Mr. McCarroway. “Also, I met the son who survived. His name is Arthur, and he works at the Red Lobster. Although I didn’t know who he really was at the time. But I can talk to him again, find out what really happened all those years ago.”  
Sam and dean exchanged a look. Then your phone starts ringing, and Dean handed you your clutch so you could get it. Your fingers brushed each other, and you jolted.  
“Special agent Nunez,” you said, putting on your FBI voice. Then you softened when you realized who it was. “Oh, hey Arthur.”   
“Hey, uh, I’m sorry, but I never got your fist name,” Arthur said.   
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was all professional last night,” you chuckled. “I’m Cindy. Did you want to talk over coffee or something?”   
Arthur was silent for a moment, then, “Yes! I mean, yeah, sure. I was just about to ask you the same thing. There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts on Gerber Lane.”  
“Sounds great,” you said. “In an hour and a half, then?”  
“Sure,” Arthur said. “I’ll see you then.” You agreed, and then hung up.  
“And that’s how you do it, boys,” you said, grinning.   
“You can’t go on a coffee date like that, though. Especially not if he thinks you’re FBI,” said Sam.  
“Right,” you said, looking down at your miniskirt/tank-top ensemble. “I’ve got some clothes back at my place.” You got up, clearing off the table. You put the leftovers in the fridge, put the cutlery in the sink, and wiped down the table, all in less than two minutes. You grabbed your shoes, not even bothering to put them on as you walked to the door.  
“Hang on, we’ll give you a ride,” Dean said. “Which motel are you staying at?”  
“Really, I can walk,” you said. “I’m on the outskirts of town- but I’m used to walking a lot. It’s nothing, honest.”  
Dean looked at you, head cocked. “We’re giving you a ride, (y/n), okay? Now which motel are you staying at?”  
“Dean, there’s no motels anywhere near the outskirts of town,” Sam said, staring at the laptop screen. “(Y/n), where are you staying?”  
“Okay fine,” you said. “I’m staying in a shipping container. Dunno why it’s this far inland, but I’m not picky. I’m not all that into credit card scams, so sue me.” You crossed your arms and leaned on one leg, the tiny anti-possession tattoo on your ankle visible.   
“Alright,” Dean said. “We’ll go get all your stuff, bring it back here, and then head out to our date. Easy as pie.”   
You all headed out to the Winchesters’ infamous impala, your thoughts racing. These guys were the fucking Winchesters. And you were letting them see how you lived- abandoned shipping containers, fake bus transfers, food from friendly (or not-so-friendly) strangers or dumpsters, and living out of your knapsack.   
“You know what I don’t get?” you asked once you were all in the car and on your way. “Why do people say ‘easy as pie’? Pie is not easy. Pie is very not easy. In fact, it can take a whole day to make a pie, sometimes more depending on what kind of pie it is. It can be very difficult to make. It’s not easy.”   
The guys were silent for a couple beats. “You just changed my entire world view,” said Dean.   
“Oh,” you said. “I’m sorry.” You bit your lip and locked eyes with him in the rearview mirror.  
“No, don’t apologize,” Dean said quickly. “It’s a good thing. Makes me appreciate pie even more.” You smiled a bit at that, looking down at your hands.


	3. Psycho Demon-Ghost Thingy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry this is dragging on, but next chapter gets to the smut, I promise.

“Still nothing,” you said. “No idea where he lives, and Red Lobster doesn’t remember hiring anyone named Arthur. Dead ends everywhere.”  
“Alright, guess it’s time to make a visit to McCarroway house,” Dean said. You nodded, reaching to grab your stuff. “Whoa there, tiger,” Dean said. “You’re staying here.”  
“What?” you exclaimed. “And let you guys get all the fun and take all the credit? Over my pile of ashes.”   
“And if you come, you might end up a pile of ashes. You’re staying here, and you’re gonna hold down the fort. Protect the laptop, look for more info on Arthur.”  
“Oh, you think I can’t take care of myself, is that it?” you asked, planting your hands on your hips, feet spread and defiant. “I’ll have you know, I’ve iced more than my fair share of spirits, demons, wendigos, and so many more. I can absolutely take care of myself.”  
“Look, (y/n), Bobby mentioned that you have terrible luck with spirits, and this could be so much more than just a spirit. You’re staying here, and that’s final.” Dean grabbed you by your shoulders, walked you backwards, and sat you down on the bed. “Catch up on your sleep, in a real bed for once, okay? We’ll be back before midnight.”  
“No way, you are not leaving me behind on this, Dean,” you protested. “Sam, tell him you’re not leaving me behind on this.”   
Sam refused to meet your eye. “He’s kinda got a point, (y/n). You do have horrible luck with spirits. And we need you here to help us figure out whatever else it is that’s going on. We need you here.”   
You ground your teeth, looking between Sam and Dean. “How much is he paying you to say this?” you asked Sam. “I can pay you more.”  
“He’s not paying me at all,” Sam said. “And I know you don’t have any money, so don’t even try to pay me off. You’re staying here, and that’s that. Look, I know you don’t like it, but we do need you to help us figure this out.”  
Your crossed your arms. “I can’t just stay on the sidelines,” you growled. “I’ll come anyway. I’ll get someone to drive me up there- as you may have noticed, I can be quite persuasive when I want something.”  
“Then I’ll tie you up,” Dean countered. “I don’t care what I have to do- you’re staying here, and you’re staying safe. That. Is. Final.” Your eyes shot to the door. Maybe if you could make it up to the house before they could, they’d let you stay.   
You bolted, throwing the door open and bursting outside into the heavy rain. You heard, “Sam, grab her,” from behind you, but you were free, and you laughed. You made it about four steps outside before you felt arms wrap around your middle, pinning your arms and lifting you into the air. You kicked and squirmed, but shit, Sam was strong. You tried yelling, but Sam’s large hand went over your mouth, cutting off any chance of alerting the neighbors. He dragged you back inside, and you saw Dean holding a length of rope.  
“You are not going in there, (y/n),” Dean said. “Not on my watch.”  
Sam released his hand from your face so you could breathe. “Don’t do this, Dean,” you said. “I can help you guys. I can fight, I can burn stuff, I can shoot a gun, and can throw knives, I’m a black belt in karate.” And at that last one, you dropped your heels as hard as you could onto Sam’s toes, then forced your butt back onto his groin as hard as you could, and he released you. You shot the heel of your palm into his face, then kneed him in the groin. He slid down the wall, groaning. You turned to face Dean.  
“See?” you said. “I just took down a moose- I think I can handle a little demonic ghost action.”  
Dean looked at you, his face hard and stressed. “I just want you to be safe, (y/n),” he said, his voice low. “I couldn’t handle it if anything bad happened to you.”   
You walked over to Dean, putting one hand on his chest. You found his eyes, his deep, beautiful green eyes. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me,” you said. “I’ll be fine.” And you slid your arms around him, and he embraced you back, folding you into his chest so easily. You two fit together like puzzle pieces.   
“Ahem,” Sam cleared his throat from his position on the ground, and you jumped away from Dean, shame turning your face red. “I’m sorry,” you said to Sam. You reached down to help him up. “I didn’t mean to really hurt you- I just got a bit carried away with defending myself, as well as providing a demonstration.”   
“Yeah, no harm done,” Sam said. “We gonna go gank this bitch, or what?” You and dean agreed, grabbing all you thought you’d need: salt rifles, the demon blade, gasoline and matches, guns with silver bullets, iron rods, and your own revolver, as well as a couple flashlights.   
You arrived at the base of the hill where the house sat upon, looking out over the town. Even in the rainy daylight, it was creepy. You all grabbed your weapons and headed up to the house. “Oh lookie,” you said sarcastically, “it’s locked. Wonder whatever we’ll do now.” You put one hand on your hip, holding the other one out to Dean and Sam. “I mean, I could use my hair pin, but it would take a little longer.” Dean sighed and handed over his lock picks. “Thank you,” you said cheerfully.  
In ten seconds, you were in, standing and handing the picks back to Dean with a grin.  
You opened the door carefully, and it swung inward, silent on its hinges. You breathed out, gasping as your breath clouded in front of you, rubbing your arms in the freezing house. “Definitely a ghost in here,” Sam said.   
“GET OUT!” You and the guys jumped at the scream, Arthur materializing in front of you, shoving you backwards into the door. You knocked your head on the frame, stumbling a bit before catching your balance.   
“Arthur, stop,” you said forcefully. “Just tell us what’s going on. We can help you.” He looked at you, his eyes bloodshot and angry. He let out a growl to rival that of a werewolf, and your pulse quickened with adrenaline.   
“No one can help me,” Arthur growled. “I don’t need your help. You’re going to pay!” And with that, he leaped at you again, but you dodged him, rolling to the side and firing your salt rifle at him. He stumbled back, clutching the non-bleeding hole in his chest. He looked at you, a grin forming.  
“Shit,” you mumbled. “What kind of ghost can withstand salt?”   
“Obviously not a ghost,” Sam pointed out, firing silver bullets at the damned thing. Arthur still wouldn’t stop advancing on the three of you. “Not a shifter,” he mumbled.  
Dean took out his flask of holy water, splashing Arthur. He screamed and stumbled back, but his skin didn’t sizzle like a demon. He growled again. “So, some sort of demon ghost then?” Dean said.  
“Exorcizamus te omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica ergo draco maledicte, ut ecclesiam tuam secura, tibi facias liberate servire, te rogamus audi nos,” Sam said the exorcism perfectly, but Arthur only growled, lifting his hand and flinging Sam across the lobby area.  
“Sammy,” Dean yelled. When Sam replied that he was alright, Dean went after Arthur, the demon knife slashing. He cut Arthur on the arm, causing him to scream in pain.  
“Okay, so what?” you said. “Mostly demon? Crazy demon? Ghost demon? What the hell is he?”  
“No clue,” Dean replied. “Doesn’t matter, though. I’m gonna gank this son of a bitch no matter what he is.”   
Arthur flung Dean across the room, opposite from where Sam was recovering. Then it advanced on you. You had only your salt rifle and some holy water in a spray can. You sprayed it right into Arthur’s eyes, and he reared back, screaming. You aimed a kick straight into his solar plexus, sending him flying across the room. Either he was really light, or you were getting stronger- you preferred the latter.  
You ran to the basement on a hunch, and Sam followed, Dean close behind. Arthur was there when you arrived with the boys at your back.   
“You won’t be the death of me, agents,” Arthur said, stressing the word ‘agents’. It occurred to you that he knew you weren’t FBI, and that he’d just been playing along the whole time.  
“What really happened here?” you asked, approaching him. He stood his ground, smirking at you. You looked around the basement, noting the three wooden chairs- apparently Arthur had never been subject to Mr. McCarroway’s torture.  
Arthur looked around slowly, taking his time with the answer. “I did,” he said finally. “I happened here.” He grinned, spreading his hands. “And it was beautiful. You should have heard them scream when I made them eat their friends. When I made poor Mrs. McCarroway eat her child’s arm. When I made them watch as I tore Mr. McCarroway to shreds, breaking his bones, forcing his own limbs down his throat, cutting him open and putting salt in his wounds. Oh, how they all screamed.”  
“Okay, so you’re a total psycho,” you said, kneeling and inspecting a length of iron chain. “But what are you? You’re not a demon, and you’re not a ghost. Care to explain?”  
“Well you see,” Arthur began slowly. You kept your back to him, working on the chain. “I’m a demon and a ghost. The demon possessed me a while ago, and when I died, I wanted back into my body. He let me back in, and we’re having a blast. It’s a total madhouse in here, but hey, teamwork pays off.”   
“How is that even possible?” you heard Dean mutter. “Demon and ghost possession?”  
Before Arthur could answer, you leaped around, swinging the chain out at him. You wrapped it around his neck, scorching and cutting off his air supply.   
“Holy water and iron, mother fucker,” you said, pulling tighter on the improvised garrote. Arthur squirmed, trying to claw at you, but he was in no position to do anything but struggle and burn. “Get the matches,” you ordered the Winchesters. “Let’s light this fucker up.”  
The boys sprayed gasoline on Arthur, then lit up the matches, tossing them at him. He went up immediately, and you jumped out of the way. You dusted off your hands, looking smugly at Dean. “Told you I could handle myself,” you said, walking past them and up the stairs.


	4. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so we're finally at the smut ^.^ sorry this drags on so much, but I think it's worth it, and I hope y'all do too :) Please let me know if I should make it seem like more or less of an actual episode :)

“We’re out of beer,” Sam stated, closing the mini fridge door. “Of course we’re out of beer. I’m gonna go get some beer.” And he walked out the door. Dean scrambled up from his position on the bed, opening the door.  
“Hey, bring me some pie!” he shouted at Sam. “Don’t forget the pie.”  
“Alright, I won’t forget, calm down,” Sam called back, getting into the impala. “I’ll be gone for an hour or so, just so you know.”  
“I like me some pie,” Dean muttered as he walked back to the bed. You were sitting at the table, looking through news articles online and trying to find yourself another case. “What are you doing?” Dean asked, lying down and putting his hands behind his head.  
“I’m finding another case,” you told him. “You guys kinda butted in on this one.”  
“And without our ‘butting in’,” Dean said, “you might be dead right now, and that psycho demon-ghost thingy might still be running around.” You rolled your eyes, looking back to your laptop screen.  
“Hey, (y/n),” Dean said in a low voice. “You did good tonight. I never woulda thought of putting holy water on iron to get both baddies in there.”  
You looked up at him, blushing at the praise. “Thanks,” you said self-consciously. “You did a pretty good job of getting thrown around.”  
“Haha,” Dean feigned laughter, “very funny. By the way, how the hell did you kick that son of a bitch that hard? I saw you kick him across the room- how?”  
“I dunno,” you said truthfully. “Guess he was just really light. I mean, how much can a demon-ghost who hasn’t eaten in who knows how long really weigh, right?”  
Dean nodded, his eyes closed, but snapping open. “Hey, (y/n)?” he said.  
“Yeah?” you said, clicking on a promising article- seven people with their hearts torn out a couple states over. Sounded like a werewolf.  
“C’mere,” Dean said. You looked up to see that he had moved himself up so that he was leaning on the headboard. You swallowed nervously, pushing your chair back and walking over to stand at the edge of the bed.   
“Do you need anything?” you ask apprehensively, fiddling your hands.  
Dean reached out and grabbed your hands, stopping their nervous movement. “Don’t be nervous,” he said. “You need to relax. I’m not going to hurt you.” He pulled you down onto the bed with him, cupping your cheek in his hands. “Do you want to?”   
You nodded your head. “Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, I want this. I want you.”  
“That’s all I needed to hear,” Dean said in a husky voice. He flipped you so that you were on your back, and he was over you, his perfect lips crashing down on yours. His stubble was rough, but it felt good on your sensitive skin. His hands traveled from your breasts, down your sides, across your hips, past your butt, to cup the back of your knee, pulling it up so that your leg wrapped around his waist. He trailed kisses down your throat, to your collarbones, nibbling lightly at your sweet spot, causing you to moan. Dean chuckled roughly. “You like that, huh?”  
“Oh yeah,” you replied breathlessly. He sat you up, pulling your Hulk shirt over your head and reaching around to unclasp your bra. He tossed it off the bed, eyes roaming over you hungrily. You reached out to him, unbuttoning his plaid shirt with trembling fingers as his hands roam over your upper body. “You are so beautiful,” Dean whispered, cupping your breasts in his large warm hands. You shivered at his touch. He pulled his hands away for a second to get his plaid shirt off his shoulders, then lifted his t-shirt over his head, leaving his torso bare. You ran your hands over his hard abs, reveling at the smoothness of his skin. Then the smoothness was interrupted- you looked at where your hands were, finding multiple scars. You ran your fingers over the puckered skin.  
“Hunting accidents,” Dean said, running his hands over your own scars. He laid you back on the bed gently, kissing his way down your torso to your jeans. He unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans, tugging them off and tossing them onto the floor. He kissed the waistband of your thong, looking up at your for permission. You nodded. He pulled your thong down your legs, running his hands over the insides of your thighs. He saw a long scar on the outside of your left thigh, running his hand over the old wound.  
“Wendigo,” you said. “Big one.” Dean looked at you, smiling with pride. He began kissing your inner thighs, your core tightening at his touch. He ran his middle finger over your folds, and you shuddered, growing damp. His finger slipped inside you, and you released a soft moan.  
“God, (y/n), you’re so tight,” Dean said.   
“I’m sorry,” you said. “I just haven’t really done this in a while. I mean, not willingly.”  
Dean looked up sharply. “What?” he said. “You were raped? How many times?”  
You refused to meet his eyes, looking at the ceiling instead. “It wasn’t really rape,” you begin. “I needed information, and that was the easiest way to get it. I’ve done things I didn’t want to do to get what I needed, and I’ve done things I had to do, and I’ve done things I was forced to do. It wasn’t all rape.”  
“If you didn’t want to, it was rape,” Dean said roughly. “Do you want this, me, right now?”  
“Yes, of course, Dean,” you said. “I’ll try to relax, I’m sorry.”  
“It’s not your fault,” he said forcefully. “Rape is never the victims’ fault, remember that, (y/n). Don’t be sorry for what those bastards did, okay? I’m gonna make up for all the douchebags tonight, okay? I promise.”   
“Okay,” you said, forcing yourself to relax to his touch. He slid his middle finger back in you, working at your g-spot, then adding another finger, and then another, filling you up. You didn’t think you could handle another finger stimulating you like that, but he kept working at you with three fingers for a while, stroking your g-spot. You became a trembling, moaning, soaking mess in just a couple minutes. Your moans must have had an effect on Dean, because he was moaning too.   
Then, to your surprise, he lowered his face to your soaking entrance, lapping up your fluids, in a couple licks. His tongue was a gift from god, you thought. He stuck his tongue inside you, stroking your g-spot. He had a long tongue, and you were putty.   
Your hands were in his hair, clenching a bit every time he thrusted with his tongue. And then he added a finger along with his tongue, pressing on your g-spot. Then another finger, working quickly, while his tongue worked slow thrusts. The combined speeds of stimulation broke you down. “Oh my god, Dean I’m gonna-“ You choked off with a strangled yelp as you came into his mouth and all over his fingers.   
Dean knelt over you, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, tossing them aside. You noticed how hard he was under his boxers, as he bent to kiss you. You tasted yourself on his mouth, and you clawed your nails over his back, leaving scratches. You reached down, palming his hard-on through his boxers and he grunted, clenching his fists in the sheets. You knelt and pushed him down onto the bed, so that his head was at the foot of the bed, and you pulled his boxers off, revealing his cock. You nearly froze at the sight of it, being so much bigger than anything you’d taken before, bigger than you imagined. Dean grinned at your startled face.  
You pulled yourself together, leaning over him and stroking his cock lightly, running your nails over it. Dean shuddered, letting out a stuttering moan. You ran your tongue up his length, earning another moan, taking his balls in your hand as you licked up the beads of precum on the tip. You were able to fit your mouth around the girth, but you didn’t think you’d be able to get the whole length in your mouth. You took him down, stopping before the base so you wouldn’t gag.   
But then you remembered something important. You took him in, all the way to the base, bobbing your head up and down, playing with his balls the whole time. Dean groaned, fisting his hand in your hair. The pain of it felt good, and you went faster, taking him in, then releasing, then taking him in again. “Oh, god (y/n),” Dean shouted. He pulled your head off his cock. “I’m gonna-“ You cut him off, going back down on him. He came into your mouth, and you swallowed the hot cum, grinning up at him.  
“You didn’t have to-“  
“I wanted to,” you told him. “Duh. I just remembered I have no gag reflex.” You giggled at his shocked yet pleased expression.   
“C’mere,” dean said, wrapping one hand around the back off your neck and pulling you into his lap. He licked his cum from where it had dribbled down your chin, kissing you feverishly. His tongue demanded entrance inside your mouth, and you denied him, just to see what he would do. He bit down on your bottom lip, making you gasp. When you did, his tongue battled yours for dominance, and he won of course. You didn’t fight him, letting him take you on a blissful ride.   
“You still want this?” Dean asked, looking into your (e/c) eyes with concern.  
You smirked at him, pulling his head back down to yours, whispering against his lips, “Yes. I want you, all of you, inside me. Now.”  
“Yes, ma’am,” Dean growled, lifting your hips to plant you on his cock, thrusting as you rode him, never taking his lips away from your skin as he traveled down to the hollow of your throat, leaving hickeys on the way. His teeth brushed your collarbone, and you jumped slightly, remembering a vamp attack a few months ago. He noticed and looked at you. “I’m fine, Dean,” you laughed. “Just fuck me senseless already.”  
He grinned, his canines sharp in the dim light. “I can do that,” he said, lining up his length with your entrance, pushing the tip in just far enough that you groaned out his name. He inserted himself slowly, letting your body adjust to his size. You moaned as he filled you up, and you didn’t think you’d be able to take him, but eventually he was all the way in. he let you stretch to accommodate him for a moment before he started thrusting slowly. He pulled most of the way out, leaving you empty, then shoved himself back in, filling you to the brim.   
He buried his face in your neck, nibbling at your sweet spot, earning a groan. He picked up the pace, reaching down to flick your clit with his fingers, bringing you closer to the edge. You nails raked across his shoulder blades, drawing tiny beads of blood. If Dean noticed, he made no mention of it. He started thrusting faster and faster, but for some reason, you couldn’t cum, couldn’t find release. He was pumping as fast as he could, and you were both shouting each other’s names. But it seemed neither of you could cum, and your nails raked harder across Dean’s back, his hand on your hip surely leaving a bruise, and his hands stimulating your clit worked as fast as it could. You reached down to grab his balls, squeezing slightly.   
Dean finally slowed in his thrusting, leaning on his elbows to keep his weight off you. You were both panting, sweaty and overheated. “What’s going on?” he asked. You shook your head, your voice currently out of order. He was still inside you , and you felt so full you might burst at the seams, but somehow his length inside you was keeping you together.   
“Maybe…” you panted, “we could try… something else?” Dean looked at you, an idea dawning on his face. He pulled out suddenly, causing you to cry out at the sudden emptiness. “Sorry,” Dean muttered. “But that’s a good idea. We’ll try something else.”  
He turned you over onto your stomach, and you realized what he was thinking. His hands ran over your butt, kneading the insides of your sore thighs. You turned your head to look at him, and he locked eyes with you. “Is this okay?” he asked. You’d done it before, but you weren’t sure if you’d be able to relax for him. You told yourself you’d try.  
“Yes,” you breathed. “Take me from behind, fuck my ass into this mattress.” The demand ended in a growl, and Dean’s eyes brightened, a primal urge overtaking the both of you.  
He didn’t even take the time to stretch you open before inserting his tip into your hole, and the pain and pleasure that induced had you squirming, rocking back to take him all in. “Let yourself adjust,” he said roughly.   
“I don’t care,” you answered him, just as rough. “I need you in me, now.” He complied, sliding himself deep inside of you, filling you past your brim, eliciting a scream from your throat.  
“Who are you screaming for, baby?” Dean growled.  
“Dean!” you shouted as he began to thrust.   
“What was that?” he asked.  
“De-an!” you shouted louder.  
“Who. Are. You. Screaming for?” Dean said, both hands on your hips as he drove himself harder and deeper inside you.  
“DE-AN! OH MY GOD, DEAN!” you screamed as you came finally, soaking the mattress beneath you. He groaned out your name, cuming as well, filling you with his hot seed. His face nuzzled into your neck as he nibbled your skin, fingers gripping your hips tightly as he slowed in his thrusting. He pulled out, dripping cum down the back of your thighs. He wrapped one hand around the side of your neck, biting the skin that connected your neck to your shoulder, drawing blood. You gasped at the sensation, the relaxed into his arms as he pulled you to his chest, sinking his teeth in further.   
You turned to face him, nibbling on his throat, sinking your teeth in to mark him as he had marked you. “You’re all mine,” Dean said. “And I’m all yours.” You grinned up at him, running your fingers over the love bite you’d left him. “No other son of a bitch is going to touch you, okay (y/n)?” You nodded, absolutely in love with Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is it for part one of my (maybe) seven part series :) next part will be called 'Mz. Hyde' and I hope y'all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I hope you'll enjoy the rest of this series :)


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